


Maybe A Love Song Instead

by EgoDominusTuus



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fighting, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Geraskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mindless Fluff, Singing, feel goods, hurt!Jaskier, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/pseuds/EgoDominusTuus
Summary: There is really only one way to shut Jaskier up, and Geralt is willing to take one for the team to do it.---Valentine’s Day Gift for Tort on my writing server!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 515





	Maybe A Love Song Instead

They were both exhausted, though for markedly different reasons. Geralt was exhausted because he’d spent the better part of two hours fighting a damn flying menace that had the face of a woman but the body of a bird. Razor talons had been accompanied by not-quite-as-sharp-wit, but it didn’t stop her from savaging any part of his body that she could find exposed.

Jaskier, for his part, had done what he could… and what he could do was stay on the sidelines, stay out of his way, and inwardly plot how he was going to spin this encounter into another song that would propel the Witcher further into fame than he already was. He was dashing and brave, and Jaskier was just contemplating if rhyming the words “Flashing wings” and “vicious bird sings” would work out well for him… when he heard Geralt give out a roar of both frustration and pain. There were rivulets of scarlet, and the knowledge that he’d gotten hurt.

Maybe more than he’d intended to.

And that was enough to make the bard calm down his singing, calm down most everything that he was doing, and only stare in wide-eyed horror as the bird-monster swooped down on him again. There was a flash of talons, a scream of what sounded like savage triumph…

And Jaskier threw his instrument as hard as he could, walloping the bird in her dirty face and distracting her. She turned on him, talons slashed, there was searing pain… and then her head went flying as Geralt cut it off.

“What were you doing?” The Witcher’s voice was instantly full of frustration. His golden eyes narrowed. "I had it.”

“You looked like you needed help. And I--” Jasker went to flourish and gesture, and then groaned, doubling over.

There was red. There was a _lot_ of red. He looked up at Geralt, his smile still dashingly charming. “Do you think you’ll write a song about how I died to protect you? Jaskier… nothing… rhymes with…” And then he fainted.

\---

Everything was warm, and soft, and it hardly hurt as much as he thought it would. Perhaps he’d died, because there were calloused hands pressing carefully against his bare torso, which was warm in the light of a fire. 

Calloused hands. Smelled like sweat and musk and _good._ Geralt -- Jaskier knew the scent. Which was why he was obviously dead, because there was no way that the Witcher would touch him like that for any reason other than that. He was almost afraid to open his eyes.

But he did. Soft, a quick little slit of a peek. His lashes barely fluttered, but Geralt noticed. “So you aren’t dead.” His voice sounded as blunt and practical as usual, but Jaskier could have sworn that he detected the faint hint of relief in those golden hues. Jaskier tried to summon a smile, attempted to sit up, but that warm, calloused hand pushed on his shoulder.

“You nearly lost your guts. Stay down.” Geralt’s voice was a grunt that was only faintly laced with concern, but that faint lacing was enough to let the bard know that he cared. Probably more than he’d ever let on before, and the more was more than enough to make his entire body feel flush and warm and happy.

Maybe it was the blood loss? Now that he was paying attention, he could tell that his body had been through something that it perhaps shouldn’t have. Tight stitches pulled along his bare waist, and he let out a small little grunt. “I had to save you, didn’t I?”

“Hmmm.” Geralt’s eyes rolled, but he swiped a cloth carefully along his companion's torso, decidedly not telling him that he would have been fine without the assistance. He would have been.

Probably.

More than likely.

“The bard and the witcher faced down the demon bird -- Geralt of Rivia uttered not a word.” Jaskier was already murmuring a soft tune out to himself, and Geralt let out another groan. 

“Shut up. You need to rest if you’re going to heal.”

“The wench screamed _Death to the Witcher,_ and the sweet flower knew -- he had to do something, so his weapon he threw.” He completely ignored Geralt, his fingers itching to strum a tune, his lips pulling into a bit of a smile.

“Fuck, just shut up and relax.” 

“And so he thr--” Geralt let out another low growl, shoving the bard down, but Jaskier just gave a swat at him, trying to push him away.

There was really only one way to shut him up, and Geralt knew it. With a sigh, he darted forward. Jaskier thought he was going to hit him.

Instead, he pressed warm, hard lips to his mouth and kissed him with a ferocity that sent blood running straight out of Jaskier’s head and effectively stole away any and all ability to come up with clever lyrics. His hands came up instantly, pressing to Geralt’s broad chest, and the Witcher, in turn, tangled his scarred digits into Jaskier’s hair. He pulled him close and held him tight while his tongue invaded the mouth that never seemed to shut up, rough and hard and just as gruff and savage as the Witcher himself was.

Jaskier was definitely dead, and had been rewarded in the afterlife for his bravery. That was the only explanation for this. 

Geralt held him tight for just another moment longer, and then pulled back. It was only the flash of warm heat in his eyes that told Jaskeir that he’d enjoyed himself at all. That, and the hand that was far more gentle than his tongue and teeth had been during their kiss.

“Just shut up, Jaskier.” He touched his hair, soft. For just a moment tender. And then he shoved the bard by the shoulder to lay back down. 

Jaskier smiled, his entire body full of shocked bliss, and started to hum under his breath; maybe he wouldn’t write a ballad to his bravery. Maybe, instead, he would write a love song about a man facing down a monster to prove his devotion to his secret desire.

But what word would rhyme properly with ‘blazing lips…?’ 


End file.
